


Strike Team Delta

by raiining



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Mission Fic, No Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, No Spoilers, No spoilers for any episode after T.R.A.C.K.S., Post-Episode: s01e13 T.R.A.C.K.S., Post-Iron Man 3, Strike Team Delta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:05:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil hasn’t been <i>hiding</i> on the Bus, he just doesn’t like it when his worlds collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Team Delta

**Author's Note:**

> i.e., The Episode That Never Happened
> 
>  
> 
> In other words, I wrote the first half of this after T.R.A.C.K.S., put it down and forgot about it, then went back after finishing MAoS and watching the Winter Soldier and decided that _dammit!_ Everybody deserves nice things!!
> 
> MASSIVE THANKS to Ralkana, who single-handedly (because I was of absolutely no help) teased out the problems that will develop when you let a fic sit on your harddrive for over five months. 
> 
> Thank you, beautiful.

“No.”

“No?”

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose and tries, in vain, to fight the oncoming headache. “ _Hell_ , no. I do not need Barton or Romanov for this mission. My team can handle it.”

“Cheese,” Nick says, and fuck him, he sounds _amused_ , “I know perfectly well that you will complete the objective with or without outside assistance, but what I’m saying is that combining our forces will cut down on wasted resources. You can’t tell me that there’s nothing your team can’t learn from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resident pair of experts.”

Phil glares at the screen. “No, of course not, but – ”

“Then take the damn help. Besides, you’ve been hiding on that Bus for far too long.”

“I haven’t been _hiding_ – ”

“Whatever you want to call it,” Nick interrupts, waving a hand. “Listen – the Avengers are scattered for now, and Barton and Romanov’s profiles have been raised too high for standard undercover work. They’re bored. Do me a favour and get them off my boat for a while. Go to Italy, track down Maya Hansen’s work, and do your damn job. And while you’re at it, try to grow a pair, would you?”

“Is that an order, sir?” Phil asks, grinding his teeth together.

“I’ll make it one if I have to,” Nick says, sounding cheerful. “Helicarrier out.”

Phil doesn’t bother to reply before logging off. He wants to drop his head into his hands and feel unfairly treated for a minute, but he squares his shoulders instead.

“You heard the Director,” Phil says, turning around. May is watching him from the doorway of his office. “Back to the cockpit. We’re going to New York.”

 

*

 

“So what exactly is the deal here? You don’t trust us any more, A.C.?”

Phil ignores the absurd nickname and indicates the console screen. “Trust is not the issue at present. Experience is. Since learning that Maya Hansen worked with the Advanced Ideas Mechanics think-tank for over a decade, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been retracing her steps, following the course of her research from ‘bright idea’ to ‘Extremis’. We got a tip recently in the form of a leaked email – Hansen spent two years working at this vineyard in Tuscany from 2004 to 2006. We believe she solved a number of the more intractable difficulties regarding Extremis during her time there.”

“Ooh, such as the duplication rate of the original formula!” Jemma jumps in, sounding excited. 

“Or the cross-species coding that allows it to be injected into humans,” Leo agrees. 

Ward shoots the engineer a look, and Fitz makes a face. “What? Just because I’m a mechanics man, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the intricacies of Extremis. It’s almost more of a computer program than a biological entity, anyway, the way it invades foreign tissue and adapts to its genetic and neural substructure…”

“The point,” Phil says, trying to draw the meeting back on target, “is that Hansen left Tuscany with several notable breakthroughs and very little paperwork. The original formulas may still be on site.”

“Unless they’ve destroyed all her work,” Jemma points out. “People do, you know. It’s a travesty.”

“They might have,” Phil agrees, circling around the table to highlight an image folder. At the press of his finger, several pictures of the vineyard expand. The house is gorgeous and classically Tuscan in architecture, but an arrow points to the hidden entrance of the underground facility. Phil touches the holographic interface and images of the hidden labs appear, revealing gleaming rows of sterile white benches and racks of test tubes.

“They have one of the 2007 Stark thermal cyclers!” Jemma exclaims. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”

Phil ignores her. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has already been to this facility once, back in 2008. We didn’t know about Hansen’s involvement at that time, but we’d received a tip that weapons research was being conducted on site. Strike Team Delta was mobilized and went in to secure the files.”

At the mention of the team, Leo whistles. Grant blinks. Skye looks around, confused. “Strike Team who now?”

“Strike Team Delta,” Phil repeats. “It was an elite S.H.I.E.L.D. team active at the time. They were charged with some of the most dangerous and potentially disastrous missions in the history of the organization.”

“Aww, Coulson,” drawls a voice from the hall. “It’s almost like you miss us.”

Phil can’t resist a smile. Standing in the doorway, having obviously just come in from the rear compartment, is Clint Barton. Phil allows himself one glance – Clint looks good. Strong, confident, and just this edge of smug, he stands with one hip cocked to the side, as if he knows exactly how sexy he looks.

He probably does.

Still, he isn’t _completely_ back to normal. Phil might not have seen Clint since just before the collapse of the Pegasus facility, but he worked with the man for years. He can spot what no one else besides Natasha, standing just behind Clint’s left shoulder, would notice – the faint dark circles under his eyes, the weight he’s lost and hurriedly put back on. There’s a new tension in the line of his shoulders and an extra layer of wariness in his eyes.

Phil schools his expression before it can give away too much. “Skye, meet Strike Team Delta.”

“Holy shit,” Skye bursts out. “You’re _Hawkeye_.”

Clint grins. “Sometimes. I’m also Agent Clint Barton, level seven. Nice to meet you.”

“And you’re the _Black Widow_ ,” Skye goes on, sounding shocked. She’s staring at Natasha. “You’re _Avengers_.”

“Like the man said,” Natasha replies, pushing forward past Clint and dropping her bag of supplies by the computer table, “sometimes. Right now we’re S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and on a mission.” She looks at Phil. “What’s the objective, sir?”

“The files we took from Tuscany were incomplete,” Phil says, circling back around the table and tapping another part of the screen. “The information we retrieved was sensitive but not specific to Extremis. S.H.I.E.L.D. has tracked several recent emails coming from within the facility that seem to indicate that more information is available. We’re to go back in and retrieve the data.”

“Who’s got the files now?”

Phil shakes his head. “Unknown. The emails were encrypted and the Director tasked us with this mission before the key could be broken. Leo, Skye – that’s for you to finish while we travel. I want you to look over what we’ve got so far and break down the rest of the code.”

Leo nods, and then shakes his head. “I can do that, yes – no. _We_ can do that, no problem, but – you were Strike Team Delta? _Really_?”

Clint smirks. “Of course he was. He’s the best handler we’ve ever had.”

Jemma’s face is shining with pride and even Grant looks impressed. Phil rolls his eyes. “Agent Barton is known for his exaggeration. Fitz, Skye – get me the name of the individual selling this information, and find out who exactly they are selling it to.”

Leo’s expression turns serious, but Skye has to tear her attention away from Clint. “Sure thing, A.C.”

Natasha grins at the nickname. Phil sighs. He’s just glad Melinda’s stuck flying the plane. “Jemma,” he says, “I’d like you to look over the original data Delta recovered from the site. See if there’s anything that’s been overlooked in regards to Extremis.”

“Will do.”

“Barton, Romanov,” Phil says, looking back, “I want you to go over both entrance and extraction plans with Ward. Natasha and Grant will go in posing as American tourists on a wine tasting tour with Clint as backup and Eyes Up High. Skye and I will remain in the surveillance vehicle to monitor your situation and provide secondary backup.” He looks around the table, catching everyone’s eye. “Any questions?”

The team – both old and new – shakes their heads. “Good,” Phil says, straightening. “I’ll be in my office. Get to work.”

 

*

 

Phil likes his office on the Bus. It’s more spacious than his station on the Helicarrier, which is of necessity strapped for space. The Bus was constructed during the nineties, when S.H.I.E.L.D. was flush with cash. They weren’t cheap to run, these massive planes, and still aren’t, but further advancements by Stark Industries have substantially cut down on the cost. Now they can fly to Italy and back on barely more than it took to make it to China when the Bus was first commissioned, and with far fewer carbon emissions. 

It still feels like a consolation prize. Phil knows it’s not meant to be. 

There’s a knock on his door.

“You busy?” Skye asks when he looks up. 

Phil shakes his head and she walks in, oddly hesitant, glancing over his various knick-knacks while she does. “Even after sacrificing a few to the greater good, you’ve got a lot of keepsakes, don’t you, Coulson?”

“The accumulation of over twenty years of world travel, more than half of it with S.H.I.E.L.D. What can I do for you, Skye?”

She shrugs and takes a seat. “Nothing much. My decryption software is running and Fitz and Simmons are arguing over something I absolutely do not understand. I thought I’d see what you were up to.”

Phil indicates his desk. He’s got papers spread over more than half of it. “I’m going over my field notes from the first time we infiltrated this facility. It’s helpful to remember.”

Skye leans over and glances through the notes. They’re heavily detailed in Phil’s tight hand. “Handwritten?”

“All Priority One missions are,” Phil explains. “I had them couriered over from Washington when we got to New York. They exist only in paper form and are kept in a filing cabinet behind Director Fury’s desk.”

“Wow,” Skye says, shaking her head and leaning back. “I can’t remember the last time I actually wrote something out by hand.”

“You left a note on the fridge last week complaining about the lack of milk,” Phil tells her dryly. “It was barely legible.”

“Which is why I’ve now stuck a StarkPad to the wall,” Skye says with a bright smile. “So you won’t yell at me again.”

“I didn’t yell.”

“You got stern. It was very intimidating. I think that’s what being scolded by my father would be like.”

Phil winces. “Thank you. Now I feel old.”

“You _are_ old, G-man,” Skye informs him dryly, “and still hot. It’s weird.”

Phil shoots her a look. “And _now_ I feel uncomfortable.”

She shrugs and looks away, fingers drumming on the table. “So, what was it like?” 

“What was what like? Getting old?”

She rolls her eyes. “ _No_. Working with people like Barton and Romanov. With superheroes.”

Phil can’t help his soft smile. “Incredible.”

She looks over at him. “Really?”

Phil nods. “Really. It was… I knew at the time that it was special, that I should savour the experience. I knew I’d never have a chance like that again.” He shakes his head. “There’s no reason you would know this, but there’s an unwritten rule within S.H.I.E.L.D. – any project you create, you headline, becomes your baby. You’re in charge of it. The Director’s project has always been the Avengers. Since the first day I met him, back in the Rangers, he always had this dream – a team of remarkable people who could fight the battles that we never could.”

He smiles as he remembers. “I thought _I_ was a Captain America junkie – Nick put me to shame. He knew everything there was to know about every superhero ever created, mentioned, or experimented on in some hidden lab. He had access to information I never knew existed, and he was always searching, looking for extraordinary people. When we left the Rangers and started at S.H.I.E.L.D., he continued his hunt. Barton was the first – Nick found him after sorting through a couple of hundred records, trying to separate truth from fiction. Agent Barton is completely human, but exceptionally skilled. After he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D., Barton found Romanov. Watching them fight together, we knew we had something special.”

“And that’s how the Avengers Initiative was started?”

Phil nods. “Barton and Romanov were the first. Nick kept searching for more remarkable people, and in the meantime we had two of the finest fighters in our ranks. I was assigned as their handler, and Strike Team Delta was born. We went all over the world, doing jobs I wouldn’t have thought possible a year or two before. It was an amazing experience.”

Skye smiles, but it’s wistful. “What happened?”

“Nick’s search panned out. He found Bruce Banner, Tony Stark… Strike Team Delta was always meant to be temporary, a way to keep up our skills. When we found Thor in New Mexico, I knew things were going to change. By the time the Chitauri attacked New York, Strike Team Delta’s days were done.”

Skye looks sad. “So how’d you end up here?”

Phil shrugs. “The Avengers was always Nick’s dream – this was mine. I knew we didn’t need another team of superheroes, but we would _always_ need extraordinary people. I envisioned a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, fully mobile and able to investigate strange phenomena as they occurred. S.H.I.E.L.D., even Strike Team Delta, always struck after the fact. I wanted a team that could be on the ground and ready to investigate before a situation exploded.”

“So you put all this work into the Avengers, got it off the ground, and then – what? Got reassigned?” 

Phil smiles. “Hardly. The Avengers needed me initially, to help get the project started. Now that they’re up and running, they have no need for an aging S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“You know that’s not true, sir,” says a familiar voice.

Phil looks up to see Clint lounging in his doorway. His shoulders are relaxed, and there’s a shit-eating grin on his face. Phil can’t help but smile back. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you call me ‘exceptional’,” Clint says, swaggering into his office. “Made me feel all tingly, sir.” 

“Exceptional pain in my ass, maybe,” Phil returns, but he’s still smiling.

“I’d say ‘exceptional’ is a fine word to apply to _that_ ass,” Skye mutters under her breath, obviously louder than she meant to by the way her face immediately turns red.

Clint grins and collapses onto the couch. “Finally, somebody who appreciates me! I like her, sir. Can we keep her?”

“You are not taking my hacker, Agent,” Phil warns him, not entirely sure that Clint isn’t serious. “She’s a valuable member of this team.”

“Aww, you _do_ love me, A.C.”

Phil closes his eyes. “Get out, the both of you. Your heads will be swollen to the size of watermelons by this time tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say,” Skye laughs, bouncing up from her chair with a smile.

“If you want to be intimidated back down to normal size,” Clint tells her, not moving from the couch, “you could head to the rear deck and watch Natasha and May throw down. They’ve pulled out the sparring mats.”

“ _Sweet_ ,” Skye says with a whistle. “You coming, Coulson?”

“I choose to let Agents Romanov and May catch up without an audience, thank you.”

She shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat – I’m getting front row seats before they’re all gone. Bye!” 

Clint watches her go before turning back to Phil with a grin. “So, how’d you find her?”

“She hacked into a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. database using a laptop while living in her van,” Phil informs him dryly.

Clint whistles. “Remind me never to introduce her to Tony Stark.”

Phil winces and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t.”

Clint smiles, but it’s a softer, smaller expression. Something private. “How are you doing, sir?” 

“I’m okay,” Phil says automatically, then remembers who he’s talking to. He sighs. “Mostly okay. I’m having nightmares.”

Clint frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Phil thinks of Tahiti, of the bright sun and the perfect blue sky. He shivers. “Not really. How about you? How are you doing?”

Clint shrugs and glances away. He looks over Phil’s remaining knick-knacks. “I’m okay. You heard Selvig went crazy?”

“I saw it on the news,” Phil replies, keeping his voice even. “He got it together enough to help in the end.”

Clint makes a non-committal face. “Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been cleared for the field,” Phil points out.

“The Director pulled some strings,” Clint admits. “The WSC wanted to hang me out to dry.”

“That was never going to happen.”

“I know,” Clint says, gifting him with a small smile. They sit in silence for a moment, and then Clint clears his throat. “I – uh – I came looking for you. After. Nick said you’d already been transferred to Tahiti.”

“It’s a magical place,” Phil’s lips say before he can stop himself. He cringes. 

Clint looks concerned. “Sir?”

“It’s nothing,” Phil tries to dismiss. “Physiotherapy, you know how it is. I healed well there.”

“You did. I mean, you look good. I mean – ” Clint makes a face. “You know what I mean.”

Phil can’t help it – he laughs. “I do. Thank you, Agent Barton.”

“You’re welcome, Agent Coulson,” Clint says, grinning back. He stands and stretches. Phil avoids watching the long line of his back only with years of diligent practice. “You going to sleep soon?”

Phil nods at his reports. “As soon as I’m finished going through this I will.” He shoots Clint a look. “People keep coming to me with interruptions.”

“Ha ha, sir. Like you didn’t finish going through those hours ago.”

Phil refuses to acknowledge how true that is. “Get some rest, Agent. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

“Always do,” Clint says with a grin, but he turns to leave the office. He looks back once, something indecipherable in his gaze. “You get some rest too, Coulson.”

“I will,” Phil promises.

Clint nods and leaves.

 

*

 

In the morning, Phil joins the rest of the team around the computer console in the planning room. Natasha looks up as he walks in.

“We have both alpha and beta entrance and extraction plans,” she says, showing no sign of her sparring match with Melinda yesterday. “Agent Ward and I will approach via the main doors here,” she points to the schematics, “and join the first scheduled tour. We will break off at the halfway point and use this hallway to approach the administration offices.”

Clint steps up and taps the screen. “There’s a fermentation plant I can use for cover, which will give me line of sight on all but one potential exit. I’ll also have a good view into the administration offices, and will be able to warn our team inside if anyone is on the move.”

Skye holds up her laptop. “I’ve got Grant and Natasha – I mean, Ward and Romanov – are we being all official now?” She looks around the table and shrugs. “Whatever. I’ve got a Mr. and Mrs. Underhill booked for the ten o’clock tour, and I’ve hacked into the security system on site. We have security camera access to the entire facility, both above _and_ underground levels.”

Leo nods. “We looked over the emails – there’s nothing to tell us who sent the emails or where they’re being directed to. The accounts are anonymous, but we’ve managed to identify who works in the office they were sent from.” He flicks a hand at the screen. “David Maaori,” he says, and the image of a dark haired man with serious eyes appears. “Forty-seven, never married, no kids. He’s worked at the vineyard for the past fifteen years.” 

Phil looks over the information. “Excellent. Jemma?”

She clears her throat. “Most of the data first recovered from the scene has been thoroughly picked over, but I did manage to find one or two bits of information that make more sense now that we have an idea of how Extremis works. There are still large gaps in our knowledge, but I have a better idea as to the shape of those gaps, if that makes sense. Hopefully whatever information the team retrieves today will help to fill those in.”

Phil nods. “Indeed. Excellent work everyone.” Clint, Natasha, and Grant nod seriously; Skye and FitzSimmons look pleased. He glances over at Skye and raises an eyebrow. “Underhill?”

She grins. “I couldn’t resist, A.C. I knew you’d get it. You have a copy of _The Hobbit_ in your desk.”

Clint looks up. The special edition was a gift from him a year or so ago. 

Phil shoots him a private smile before looking over the rest of the group. “Okay, people. We’re ready. Let’s move.” 

 

*

 

With Skye at his side, Phil watches from the surveillance van as the team disperses. FitzSimmons will monitor the situation from the Bus, while Melinda minds the cockpit and keeps them prepped for takeoff. If the Director hadn’t involved Clint and Natasha, he would have used this opportunity to try and prod her back into the field, but he has to admit that the experience will be good for Grant. Even watching through the security system, he can see that Natasha’s skill at undercover puts his to shame.

That’s to be expected. Natasha is a master spy and Grant, while talented, simply isn’t at her level. The man was a good level six and he’s going to be a great level seven, but he still has a long way to go. These kinds of missions will help him develop.

Fitz and Simmons bicker quietly over the comm. in the background while Phil watches Grant and Natasha join the tour. It isn’t packed for a Saturday afternoon, but this is wine country in Tuscany and there are more than few tourists willing to pay to see the countryside. Phil can’t help but remember his first time here with Strike Team Delta – during that mission, he and Clint had played the friends-do-wine-tasting routine while Natasha had snuck in through the back. Phil had ‘drunkenly’ stumbled into a display case of rare vintages and distracted security while Natasha broke into the underground facility. He can still remember Clint’s hand on his elbow, his lips close and smelling of Merlot as he helped Phil regain his balance. He had kept his hands on Phil’s arm the rest of the tour, ostensibly to help him stand. 

Phil shakes off the memory.

Clint is here somewhere, too, hidden on the roof of the fermentation building in the middle of the fields, too far for someone without his skill to be useful. While most snipers are restricted to scanning the area through their scope, Clint’s remarkable vision allows him to keep an eye on the entire operation with both hands on his bow.

Phil drags his gaze away from a useless attempt to locate Clint – the man won’t be found unless he wants to be found – and back to the security monitors. The cameras don’t have sound, but the comm. link in his ear relays the team’s progress.

“Nearing the midway point of the tour,” Natasha says, under her breath. Beside her, Phil can see Ward listening intently to the guide. He’s holding a glass of Pinot Noir in his hand. 

“Two security guards approaching from your left,” Clint says, coming on the line. Phil switches cameras and sees them, walking side by side down the administration corridor. 

“Walking… walking… hold… go _now_ ,” Clint orders.

At his command, Grant stumbles on a rug. The wineglass in his hand goes tumbling.

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaims, hurrying forward. His tour guide is now soaked in purple-black wine. “Here, let me – ” he tries to tug a napkin from a nearby table and ‘accidentally’ sends the stacked tower of empty glasses falling.

Skye chuckles. “Oh, dear.”

Phil shares her smile. The tour guide’s lips thin and she brushes off Grant’s attempts to help. The two security guards who had been walking down the administration wing turn around and circle back, looking for the cause of the disturbance. Phil studies them. One is short and stocky, with a visible paunch, while the other looks bored. They certainly don’t look as menacing as he remembers. 

On the screen, Natasha darts away. She uses the cover of Grant’s spill to disappear down a corridor in the direction of the administration offices without being seen.

“I can’t track her,” Skye says. “She’s entering a security blind spot.”

Phil nods and focuses his attention on Grant. He’s been left standing awkwardly to the side of the tour group and he’s wringing his hands in abject apology. It’s a little heavy handed, but still well done.

“I’m sorry, I’m – I’ll just,” he points down the hall, “go find a bathroom or something.”

He backs away, still apologizing, but no one spares him more than a disgusted look. The other tourists are taking the opportunity to pour themselves another glass of wine while the guide is distracted.

Grant ducks away and goes right. Sure enough, there’s a bathroom down the hall, but he bypasses it and heads towards the offices instead. “Black Widow,” he says, tapping his comm., “where are you?”

She doesn’t answer. Phil looks over the monitors and can’t spot her. He can see the office marked David Maaori, but it’s unoccupied at the moment. “Skye, can you see her?”

She shakes her head, typing rapidly. “No, she’s off my screens.”

“Hawkeye,” Grant asks, while Phil is still scanning the feeds, “do you have eyes on Widow?”

There’s a pause, and Phil is just drawing breath to repeat the request when Clint finally speaks. “She’s fine,” he says, sounding a little distracted. “Head back to the tour, she’ll join you with the data in a moment.”

Phil watches Grant pull up. The plan had been for the two of them to proceed to the office together. “Does she require assistance?”

“I’ve got it,” Clint responds, and now that Phil is listening for it, he can hear the soft _twang_ of Clint’s bow. 

“Hawkeye, report,” Phil orders.

“Nothing to worry about, sir,” Clint says, sounding unconcerned. “Nat just got a little held up in the left corridor. I’m setting up a distraction for her now.” He’s barely finished speaking before the wail of an alarm comes over the input front Grant’s comm. “Ward should get out of there.”

“Ward – ” Phil starts, but Grant is already moving.

“On it,” he mutters, ducking back towards the bathroom. “Thanks for the heads up, Hawkeye.”

Clint doesn’t say anything, and Phil frowns. He can still hear the sound of the alarm wailing overhead. “Hawkeye, what did you do?” On the monitors, people are looking around in concern. The few security guards Phil can see are haphazardly mobilizing, while administration staff poke their heads out of offices. Phil checks every screen, but he can’t see the source of the disturbance. He also can’t see head or tail of Natasha.

“Busted a window on the ground level, just beside a moving tractor so they’ll figure a rock did it. For the moment they’re scrambling, but it will calm down soon enough, sir.”

Phil frowns harder. “You should have – ”

“Oh shit,” Grant says suddenly, cutting him off. Skye sucks in a breath. Phil glances towards the monitor and sees one guard coming out of the administration wing. Unlike the others Phil has seen, this one looks functionally competent. When she spots Ward, she immediately draws her gun. 

“Hey,” Grant says, putting up his hands. “I, uh, went looking for the bathroom. Is that it?”

He isn’t doing a very good job of acting like a confused tourist, and Phil isn’t at all surprised when the security guard refuses to buy it. “On your knees,” the guard orders in very good English. Phil tenses, wondering if Grant will decide to follow her instructions or attack, but before either of them can decide what the best course of action would be, an arrow slams into the carpet between them with a _thunk_.

There is only one open window in the corridor, but Clint makes these kinds of shots look easy. The impact triggers a release mechanism and the arrow begins to emit a cloud of white smoke. 

“Is that some kind of knock-out gas?” Skye asks.

Phil has no idea. He sure as hell hopes so.

Whatever it is, it works fast. One moment the guard is advancing threateningly on Grant, and the next she is coughing and dropping her gun.

Phil tenses. Ward is momentarily protected because he’s closer to the ground, but within seconds, he's also gasping for air. “Hawkeye…” Phil warns.

“Here,” Natasha says, and Phil is just as surprised as Grant is when she suddenly appears. She's wearing a discreet type of gas-mask that Phil doesn't recognize. It must be Stark’s design. Phil grits his teeth as Natasha straps an identical mask to Grant’s face and watches as he takes a few gasping breaths. At their feet, the gas is already beginning to dissipate. 

“Better?” Natasha asks, slipping off her mask. She folds it into a square and slips it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Just peachy,” Grant replies, copying her actions. His voice is rougher than normal, but he looks okay. 

The guard is unconscious on the floor. Natasha takes one of her arms and Grant takes the other. Together, they drag her into a nearby women’s restroom.

Natasha taps her comm. She looks professional on the monitors but Phil can hear the smirk in her voice. “I’m calling her a car.”

“A long black car,” Clint chimes in. 

“A limousine.”

Clint laughs. They trade _Clue_ references back and forth while Grant makes annoyed, inquisitive sounds and Natasha dismantles the knock-out arrow.

Phil grits his teeth and waits, giving both Clint and Natasha a chance to explain, but neither of them bothers. Just as Phil’s about to expand on the reference – Natasha means that she’s added a mickey of liquor to the guard’s front pocket and splashed a little on her lips; she’ll probably wake up in a few hours feeling hungover and with no memory of the previous day – Natasha takes Grant’s arm with a sweet smile and steers him back in the direction of the wine tour. 

“I know you didn't mean to knock over the glasses, honey,” she says, once again perfectly in character. “You don't have to be ashamed.”

Grant gives her a thin smile. “Thank you, _dear_ ,” he replies, just as the tour group appears. The guide gives Grant a flat look. He bites his lip and glances down, while Natasha mouths “sorry” to the group.

Most of the other patrons smile and lift their recently re-filled glasses of wine. The guide glares at Grant and Natasha as they shuffle into place. The tour continues, and they finish the circuit of the fermentation equipment with sheepish looks on their faces.

Natasha and Grant make their exit as soon as possible. “The underground lab has been abandoned,” Natasha informs the group. “I took pictures. Everything of value has been removed. I downloaded the contents of Maaori’s computer.”

“Good,” Phil says tightly. “I’ll pick you up at the south entrance.” 

Barton clicks his comm. to indicate that he’s also heard and understood, and Phil shifts the van into drive. Skye darts a glance at him before looking away. Phil takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself before letting it out again.

He manages to stay silent during the drive back. Phil knows the moment he starts, he’s not going to be able to stop, and he’d rather do this in private. Melinda and FitzSimmons are waiting for them back at the Bus. Phil keeps rein on his temper until the rest of his team exits the van.

Clint _has_ to have noticed the tension, but he still jumps out of the passenger seat with a jaunty smile. “Mission successful, sir.”

“That remains to be seen, Agent Barton,” Phil says. His tone is icy and he does nothing to soften it. “Ward, that was well done. Good job reacting to a changing situation. Take the information from Agent Romanov to FitzSimmons and get yourself cleaned up. Don't argue with me, I can see the wine stains on your shirt from here. Barton, Romanov – my office. _Now_.”

Phil turns and walks towards the front of the Bus without waiting for Clint or Natasha. He stalks to his office and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

It doesn't take long for Clint and Natasha to arrive. Clint takes one look at his face and closes the door behind him. 

Phil feels the leash he’d put on his temper begin to fray. “What the hell was that?”

Clint tenses. “What the hell was _what_ , sir?”

Phil throws out a hand to indicate the general direction of the winery. “What the hell was _that?_ What was disobeying the order to work with my team and completely undermining my authority? What was vanishing at the first opportunity and making calls that you had _no right_ to make, not without speaking to me first?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “That was hardly the first opportunity.”

Clint snorts. “Yeah. Ward sure is green. I can’t believe he made level seven.”

“I know, right? I mean – ”

“Enough.” Phil’s voice is cold, and it cuts right through their banter. “That's it, that is absolutely enough. I don't know what you two think you're doing here, but – ”

“What _we're_ doing here?” Clint interrupts, all traces of levity gone. “What are _you_ doing here, sir? I mean, really, the _Bus_? This _team_? Aside from Melinda May, they're all...” He scowls.

“Inexperienced?” Natasha volunteers. The words are light, but her tone is serious. “Rookies? Shouldn't-be-allowed-out-of-the-lab novice trainees that are so wet-behind-the-ears, they're practically drooling on the floor?”

Clint nods. “Exactly.”

Phil's face hardens. “That's wonderful. Now that I know what you really think, we can skip the pleasantries and get to the heart of the matter. I am here because I am officially dead, the Avengers don't need me, and I wanted to be useful again. Also, this Bus and this team were my idea. That's it. Why are you two here?”

Clint's eyes narrow. “We always need you.”

Phil sighs. “No, you don't, Clint. The Avengers are doing perfectly fine without me.”

“He didn't say the Avengers,” Natasha tells him. “He said 'we'.”

Phil stares at her. “You're doing fine.”

Clint huffs a humourless laugh. “Are we, Coulson? Are we really?”

Phil blinks and looks at him, really _looks_ at him again. Clint is tired. Phil knows that, he’s known it from the first moment Clint stepped on the Bus. He's tired and he's lost weight and there are shadows behind his eyes, but that's to be expected after what he's gone through over the past couple of months. Brainwashed by Loki, attacking the Helicarrier, and – 

And thinking his handler was dead.

“You're both level seven,” Phil says. “You should have been the first to know.”

Clint rubs a hand over his face and turns away. Natasha takes pity on him. 

“We were, or at least, we were among the first to be told that you'd come back. But, Phil... you were dead for days. _Days_. We don't know how Fury resurrected you, but we do know that. We both sat beside your body in vigil. The Director may have spread a lie about you being down for only a couple of seconds, but it's not true. We mourned you. We had the right to. You were gone.”

Phil catches himself on the edge of his desk. “You knew? You _knew?_ You knew I was dead for longer than the doctors said? Why didn't you _tell_ me?”

Clint turns back to Phil. “You didn't know?”

Phil thinks of the file he has in his safe. “I know _now_. I know because The Clairvoyant kidnapped me and forced me to regain my own memories. I know that Tahiti was faked and that I'd been dead for far longer than what Nick originally said. But I didn't know – I still don't know – _how_.”

Natasha blinks. “Tahiti was –?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, sir. _We_ don’t know. We’d thought you’d actually spent time in Tahiti recovering.”

Phil huffs and turns away, but Clint moves forward to stop him. “If we knew more we would tell you, sir. Of course we would. We'd stick by you for anything, damn Fury and damn S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Phil stares at him. He can see the truth of it behind Clint’s eyes. “Why?”

“Because you're our handler. Because we trust you. Because...” he breaks off.

Natasha steps towards them. “You should be with _us_ , sir. You should be on Strike Team Delta again. You shouldn't be here, with this ragtag team, who can't even keep you safe.”

“We already lost you once,” Clint agrees. “We don't want to lose you again.”

Phil doesn't know how long they stand like that, but, eventually, he looks away. He clears his throat, and Clint takes a half-step back to give Phil some space. 

“I would run away with the two of you in a heartbeat,” Phil tells them both. “You know I would, but Strike Team Delta has been disbanded. Hawkeye and the Black Widow are Avengers now.”

“And what about Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov?”

Phil licks his lips and turns back to Natasha. “I can't abandon my new team. It wouldn't be fair to them. Yes, they're green, and yes, it's dangerous, but we're making a real difference here. Besides, I like them. They're good people.”

Clint swallows. “So we were right. We have been replaced.”

“No,” Phil protests. “Never that.”

“What do you call this, then?”

Phil swallows. “A reassignment. Of Agents Coulson and Barton and Romanov.”

“And Phil and Clint and Natasha?”

Phil stares at Clint. “I don't know.”

Clint's expression shutters. “Well, maybe you should figure it out.” He turns and walks away, wrenching open the office door.

“Clint – ” Phil tries, but lets him go. 

Natasha watches Phil. “He's been hurting,” she says. “We've all been hurting, but him most of all.”

Phil bites his cheek. “I never really thought...”

“What?”

“That anyone would miss me.”

“Then you're an idiot,” Natasha tells him, not pulling her punches. She never does. “Get your head out of your ass and recognize that you mean the world to some people. To _us_. This team downstairs, they don't follow you because you're a level eight and they've been ordered to. They follow you because you're _you_ , because you're a good person and you bring out the best in people. You brought out the best in me, and in Clint. I can learn to let you go, but him...” Natasha shakes her head. “He thought you'd abandoned him.”

“What? No. _Never_.” Phil is one of the very few people who know what abandonment means to Clint.

“Don't tell me that,” Natasha tells him, jerking her head towards the open door. “Tell him.”

 

*

 

Phil sends Natasha downstairs with a make-work assignment to complete as punishment for her behaviour. Re-organizing the S.H.I.E.L.D. data files on infiltration and espionage training should be mind-numbing enough to keep her out of the lab while FitzSimmons decipher the data. 

He takes a second punishment assignment for Clint, using that as an excuse to go find him. It isn’t difficult. Clint’s sitting in Lola's passenger seat, his eyes closed. As Phil approaches, he lifts one eyebrow but doesn’t open his eyes. 

“How long has it been since you've taken her out?”

“Too long,” Phil admits. “We're in transit a lot of the time, or undercover when we're on the ground.”

“That's too bad,” Clint says. He opens his eyes but avoids Phil’s gaze, tipping his head instead as he runs a hand over the seat. “A lady like this deserves to be driven.”

Phil watches Clint's gentle touch and swallows. Clint’s hands have held particular fascination for him for years now. He knows their strength, their steadiness, and admires their rough beauty. He's been held in those hands on missions, but he's never experienced them off the clock.

He's never thought he'd be worthy. Clint is young, strong, and beautiful. He could have anyone he desired. Phil has never honestly believed that might be him. 

He still doesn't.

But maybe, just maybe, he should ask instead of assuming. Maybe now is the perfect chance.

“Barton,” Phil says, and then stops to clear his throat. “Clint. Would you – ”

“Hey! A.C.! Just the person I was – whoops! Um. Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She blinks at Clint. “You do realize Hawkeye’s sitting your car, right? I’m pretty sure that’s a death sentence.”

Phil closes his eyes and reminds himself that he likes Skye, that he needs her, and that she’s a good fit for this team. “Thank you, Skye. Is there something you need?”

“Uhh...” Her gaze darts from Phil, to Clint, to Lola, and back again. “Yes? I mean, I'm sorry to interrupt and everything, but there's a problem with the data we recovered from the scene today.”

Phil straightens. “What kind of a problem?”

“The kind where it's useless? They knew we were coming, A.C. The entire drive has been faked.”

Phil curses and calls his team together. They meet in the briefing room and Skye explains her findings.

“David Maaori never sent these emails. The IP address has been faked. I found and followed a false trail and discovered that _this_ woman,” Skye flicks a hand at the screen and the picture of a young lady appears, “is the one behind the emails relating to Extremis. Further digging has uncovered that she is Catherine Cho, a childhood friend of Maya Hansen. She started working at the vineyard a year after Maya did.”

“Is she still there?”

Skye shrugs. “According to the employee web site? Yes.”

Phil stares at the picture. He doesn't recognize her, and a quick look at Clint and Natasha reveals that they don't, either.

Grant studies the screen. “Is she a scientist as well?”

“She's a researcher,” Skye agrees, “but I don't think she was connected to Extremis. She seems to be exactly what she claims to be – a biologist specializing in ancient grape vines and vineyards.”

Jemma frowns. “Then why would she have faked the emails about Extremis?”

Skye shakes her head. “I don't know, but I can't find any link between her and Advanced Idea Mechanics or any other terrorist group.”

Phil straightens. He can feel the shift as everyone turns to look at him. “Maybe we should ask her.”

 

*

 

They don't sneak into the facility this time. They walk in the front door. 

“Excuse me,” Phil says politely to the lady at the reception desk. “I'd like to speak to Catherine Cho.”

He has Clint at his side and Natasha at his back. He’s confident that Natasha is right – the lab has been abandoned and the A.I.M. guards have been reassigned. The only real security left is the one competent guard that Natasha has already dealt with. He isn’t stupid, though. Grant is on back-up duty, watching them through the high-powered scope. 

The receptionist barely glances at him before picking up the phone. “Cathy? _Tre americani di vederti_.”

She looks back at Phil as she replaces the phone. “She will be with you soon, _Signore._ ”

“ _Grazie_ ,” Phil says. He steps away from the counter to wait.

It doesn't take long for Dr. Cho to appear. She looks much the same as her picture, her face thin and of Asian descent, her eyes sharp and brown. “Can I help you?”

Phil offers her a gentle smile. “I was hoping that perhaps _we_ could help _you_.”

Her face pales, but she nods. “Angelina, I'll take these three to my office, please.”

“They will need visitor passes,” Angelina says, and grabs several lanyards from a box. “Here you are.”

Phil takes one and hands the rest around. He motions to Catherine. “After you.”

She nods and leads them back through the administration offices of the vineyard. Phil knows where the stairway is that leads to the underground lab, but Catherine bypasses it. Clint and Natasha keep pace. 

They stop at a small office with Dr. Cho’s name printed in block letters on the door. There's a picture of an older couple on the file cabinet and a watercolour print on the wall. Catherine sits down, folds her hands on the desktop, and threads her fingers together.

She's nervous. Phil can see that the tips of her fingers are white.

“Dr. Cho? You’re the one who planted the emails about Maya Hansen, aren’t you?”

Catherine nods. She swallows once, her throat bobbing. “I am.”

“Can you tell us why?”

She stares at her hands for a minute more, then squares her shoulders and looks up. “I want to know what happened to her. Maya and I – we were friends. I knew she was a botanist, but she was more than that. She was a geneticist, an engineer. She was brilliant. We met again here in Italy, and I knew there was something going on. I never pressed her for that information. She left several years ago and just – disappeared. No one will tell me what happened to her.”

Phil watches her. “So you sent those emails in the hopes they would be decrypted and you would be found?”

Catherine nods stiffly. “I tried calling everyone. The C.I.A., Interpol, the SISDE and the SISMI both. No one would tell me anything. They said I didn't have clearance to know.” Her jaw clenches. “So I raided Maya's old files and sent what I could out onto the internet. I knew that whoever was interested in her would find them eventually and come to call.”

Phil sighs. “You know that was a very dangerous thing to do.”

Catherine's chin tips up. “Probably. It worked, though, didn't it? You know what happened to her.”

“I do.”

“Well?” Her hands clench in her lap. “Aren't you going to tell me?”

Phil glances left and right at Clint and Natasha respectively. He doesn't know what the right call is.

“It can be hard,” Clint says, unexpectedly, “when the people we care about disappear.”

Catherine stares at him. Their eyes meet. “Yes,” she breathes. “It can.”

Clint nods. “You worry. You start to wonder – how much did I ever know about them? What else could have been going on?”

Catherine swallows. “I knew there was more, that's why I knew to look in her files. I figured Maya was keeping it from me to protect me, but...”

“But it's hard to hang onto that,” Clint finishes for her, “when the person who would do that is gone.”

“What happened to her?” Catherine looks again to Phil. “Please, just tell me. I need to know.”

Phil takes a deep breath. “She died. Dr. Cho, your friend is dead. I’m sorry.”

Catherine's breath catches in her throat. “I-I know that,” she says. “Or at least, I thought I did. I figured that, since it had been so long...” she trails off. “Can you tell me how?”

Phil hesitates. “I can tell you that she made a bad decision. She had to trust someone, she needed money, and she trusted the wrong person. When she was no longer useful to him, he killed her.”

Catherine swallows. “H-how?”

“He shot her. We know, because there was a witness. He told us afterwards that she was trying to save his life. She was trying to bargain, but it didn't work. The man she was working with – the one she had trusted – he killed her.”

Catherine closes her eyes. “So, she died a hero?”

“Yes,” Phil tells her, knowing that it's true. “She made a few unwise decisions, and I don’t know how much of her behaviour was motivated by greed, but when the moment of truth came, she chose to try and fix her mistake. She was a hero, Catherine, or at least, she was trying to be.”

Catherine is silent for several minutes. When she opens her eyes, they shine with unshed tears. “Thank you. You understand – I needed to know.”

Phil glances at Clint once before looking back to Catherine. “I know.”

Catherine exhales. She takes a USB drive from behind the computer and passes it to Phil. “That’s everything Maya left here. I burned the paper copies.”

Phil takes the information with a nod. “Thank you.”

They stand to leave. Just as they're reaching the door, Catherine calls out. “Wait!”

They turn around.

“The man she was trying to save, the one who told you she had been killed. Is he a good man?”

Phil smiles. “He's trying to be. I don't know if he's worthy of her sacrifice, I don't know if one person can ever be considered more important than anyone else, but he's trying.”

Catherine swallows. “It was Iron Man, wasn't it? Maya always said that Tony Stark was the most infuriating, most frustrating, most brilliant man she'd ever met. She'd never trust him, but she admired him. I knew that – well, I figured that, somehow, he was important to her plans.”

Phil gives her a half-smile. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“I know,” Catherine tells him. “Thank you for telling me anyway. It hurts, but, at the same time, it's good to know.”

Phil nods at her. They stand to leave, but as the door closes behind them, Phil can hear Catherine’s choked off sob.

“Let’s go,” he says to his agents. “We’ve got what we need.”

 

*

 

Back on the Bus, Skye hovers over the blueprints of the underground lab. “So that's it? We're leaving?”

Phil nods, already tapping out the bare bones of his report on his tablet. “We are.”

“What about the laboratory? What about Extremis?”

“Catherine Cho has given us every piece of information Maya Hansen left at the facility, the files that she had hidden before AIM abandoned the lab. I will recommend to S.H.I.E.L.D. that we maintain some surveillance here, in case another party arrives, curious about the emails that initially attracted our attention, but otherwise, this investigation is closed. AIM is gone, the equipment has been moved. Dr. Cho is applying for a new position in the Canadian south. Apparently, there are good grape vines being experimented on in the Niagara region.”

Skye blows out a breath. “And that's it? We're done?” She shakes her head and banishes the scans. “What a waste.”

“We confirmed the disbandment of a known operational centre and gave a young woman closure regarding the fate of a dear friend. How is that a waste?”

Skye shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I don't know, A.C. I just feel like, like we should have done more, you know?”

Phil nods. “I do. We like to think that every mission will come with a chance to save humanity, but sometimes it's about saving one person, a day at a time.”

“No, I mean, yes, but,” Skye frowns, “I feel like we should have… I don’t know… gone back in time and saved Maya somehow.” She blushes. “I know, I watched too much TV as a child, but still. I feel like there should have been more we could do.” 

Phil smiles. This is why he likes having Skye on his team. There should always be one optimist in every gathering of hardened S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. “There isn’t. No matter how much we might want to, or how much we might wish,” he looks up and finds Clint watching him, across the Bus, standing inside the lounge, “sometimes we can't fix our mistakes. Ours, or other people’s.”

Skye makes an unhappy sound. “Let me guess – we have to learn how to accept that and move on?”

Phil smiles at her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “Like anything worth doing, it's harder than it sounds.”

Skye gives him a half smile, then glances over her shoulder towards the lounge. “I'm going to add talking about your feelings to that list, boss.”

Phil laughs; a short, self-deprecating sound. “Yes,” he admits. “That one's easier said that done.” He squares his shoulders, glancing over at Clint. “Wish me luck.”

She grins. “Good luck, A.C. Not that I think you need it. You'd have to be blind not to see the way he looks at you.”

Phil opens the door. “Some of us see better from a distance.”

Clint is waiting for him in the lounge. “Not always,” he admits. He hesitates, so Phil steps forward, reaching out with one hand to touch Clint's side. Clint sighs and tips forward, leaning down slightly to rest his forehead against Phil's. He stares into Phil's eyes. “Sometimes, we need to see things up close.”

Phil doesn’t dare look away. “I'm sorry. I never should have left you without talking to you first. I should never have assumed that you didn’t care about me the way I cared about you. I thought leaving would be easier. I was wrong.”

“You were,” Clint agrees. “Even if you didn’t know that I love you more than life itself, it was wrong to walk away. After everything that we've been through, I deserved more than that.”

Phil’s heart starts to pound. “You did,” he agrees. “You _do_. Natasha, too, I – I was a coward, Clint. I'm sorry. God, Clint. I love you. So much.”

Clint closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, his hands tightening on Phil's sides. “Say that again.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No,” Clint says, opening his eyes to stare into Phil's, “you've said that enough. I mean the other thing. The thing you said after that. Say that again.”

Phil smiles. He lifts his hands from Clint's waist and touches the sides of his face. “I love you, Clint. I do. I have for a while now.”

Clint turns his head into Phil's hand. “A while?”

Phil nods, stepping closer, until there’s no space left between them. He uses his thumb to trace the cheekbones of Clint's face. “I've been in love with you for years. I'm sorry I never had the courage to tell you.”

Clint looks like he's breathing in Phil’s scent. “It would have been against regulations.”

“It would have,” Phil admits. “I spent a long time staring at those regulations. I also know that they were an excuse. I thought that doing this, telling you what I was feeling, was too terrifying a step to take. As always, you're a braver man than I.”

Clint shakes his head. “I've already been living without you for the past year; I knew that if this didn’t work, I could do it again.”

“You've always been stronger than anyone gives you credit for.”

“Everyone but you.”

Phil swallows. He stares into Clint's eyes. “I want to kiss you now.”

Clint's gaze dips to his lips and back. “Please.”

Phil closes the last space that separates them and touches his lips to Clint's.

Clint groans. He shifts his hold on Phil's side and grips him across the back. Phil's groin brushes against Clint's thigh, and suddenly the kiss goes from sweet and comforting to hot and messy as Phil feels Clint's answering hardness. His mouth opens, almost of its own volition, and Clint's tongue thrusts its way inside.

They kiss for long minutes, lost in the feel of each other, until Skye's cat-call drags them back down to earth. 

“Get it, A.C.! Though, if you want to avoid a spectacle, I suggest retiring to your office upstairs. Natasha and Melinda are about to come in from the back.”

Clint pulls away and groans. “Not Natasha, she'll be smug for days. She told me this was my last chance to make a move without regretting it.”

Phil strokes Clint's cheek. “You'd regret this?”

“I'd regret letting you go again without telling you how I feel. I already regretted letting you die without confessing everything. Natasha cleared that up with a few bottles of vodka while you were gone.”

“I'm glad she was there for you.”

Clint shudders. “So am I. I wouldn't have wanted to go through that alone. I've done that enough in my life.”

“You have,” Phil agrees. “I never want you to go through that again. I want to be here for you, Clint. Now and forever. I never want to let you go.”

Clint smiles and leans down, nipping Phil's lips with his teeth. “Take me upstairs to your office, and you won't have to let me go for a good long while yet.”

Phil laughs, disentangling them enough to drag Clint in the direction of the stairs. “Skye, if anyone wants us, it can wait an hour.”

“I'll give you two,” Skye tells them, throwing a wink their way. “It sounds like there's some pent-up feelings to give voice to here. I think you're going to need it.”

In the end, they get twelve hours. It only takes four to fly back from Italy, but apparently Melinda has decided to take the scenic route. Phil isn't about to complain. He takes his time stripping Clint in his office, showing him how the couch folds out into a bed, and he intersperses his kisses with all the things he's wanted to tell Clint. There are so many little secrets he's been hoarding, things he never thought he’d be able to say.

“I love your chest hair,” Phil confesses, after divesting Clint of his shirt and pulling him down onto Phil's tiny bed. “I know there isn't a lot of it, but I've wanted to run my nose through it ever since that op in Milan.”

Clint chuckles and cards his fingers through Phil's hair. “Milan was when I became slightly obsessed with your forearms. Whenever you roll up your sleeves I have to remind myself that Very Serious Things are happening and I can't be distracted by wanting to nip at your wrists.”

Phil smiles, moving lower. He sucks kisses into the skin above Clint's hips. “I love your arms – I can’t tell you how many nights I've spent thinking of them. I've lost count.”

Clint gasps as Phil reaches his inner thigh. “I never thought I'd get to do this. I never thought I could ever be your type. I – oh _fuck_ ,” he swears when Phil nuzzles the head of his cock. “ _Phil!_ ”

“You've always been my type,” Phil pulls away long enough to say. “Cocky and intelligent and too pretty by half. What’s worse is, you have the skills to back it up. You're Hawkeye, the World's Greatest Marksman, and I've dreamt about doing this to you since the day Nick brought you in.”

With that, he turns his attention back to Clint's cock. He licks and teases, moving lower to nuzzle Clint’s balls, all while Clint gasps and groans above him, making needy, disbelieving sounds that Phil drinks up. He’s just about to suck him down when he remembers. “Oh, shit. Fuck.” He pulls back.

Clint struggles to sit up. “What? What?”

Phil makes a face. “I forgot a condom. I,” he cases his office, patting his hands over his suit. “I don’t have one on me. I never thought to stock any on the Bus.”

Clint chuckles, his hand going to his back pocket. “You mean you don’t have a pretty boy in every port?”

Phil really wants to go back to sucking his cock. He kisses him instead. “No. Obviously. Idiot.”

“Well, luckily for you, I came prepared.” Clint pulls a condom from his pocket. “Just in case you got brain damage and decided to actually have a go with me.”

Phil smiles. “You meant to say, ‘in case I suddenly saw reason’, right?”

“Uh huh,” Clint agrees, ripping open the condom. “Exactly that. Although,” he pauses in the act of rolling the condom on. “I haven't been with anyone since my last medical check.”

Phil stares at him. “Me neither.”

Clint holds his gaze. “So… do you want – ?”

Phil struggles with his conscience for an endless second. In the end, though, wisdom wins out. “Condom this time, and then retesting just to make sure. Even with all the blood they took from me, I’m not sure if sexual safety was first on the list. Then we’ll do this again. When that day comes, I’m going to spread you over a real bed like a buffet.”

Clint grins and rolls the condom on. “Solid planning, sir. I like it.”

“Good. Now sit there quietly and let me suck you off. I’ve wanted to do this for far too long.”

Clint groans and presses against the base of his cock. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to last long.”

Phil smiles and goes down to his knees again. “Good.”

True to his word, it doesn’t take long for Clint to come. They crowd each other after, snuggling, and then Clint fishes a second condom out of his pocket and proceeds to return the favour – with interest. They pass out together on Phil's narrow bed. Phil’s expecting to be woken any minute, but Melinda lets them sleep for several hours before she chimes Phil's phone from the cockpit.

“Boys? We'll be in New York soon.”

“Thank you, Melinda,” Phil says, while Clint makes snuffling sounds against Phil's shoulder. “We'll be ready.”

He brushes a hand over Clint's head. “Time to get up, sweetheart.”

Clint yawns and stretches. “I'm more of a baby-doll kind of guy, myself.”

Phil chuckles. “I'll keep that in mind. Do you want to have first shower?”

Clint makes a considering face. “I’m suddenly remembering my time on one of these flying Winnebagos – that wasn't you trying to create some distance, was it? There really is only room for one at a time.”

“Unfortunately true,” Phil tells him. He leans in for a kiss. “No need for space on my end.”

Clint hums happily into his mouth. “Me neither. It's just – ” he indicates the clothing they've scattered around the floor, “ – I know you didn't plan on any of this happening.”

“I hadn't even dared dream,” Phil admits. “That doesn't mean we can't find some way to make it work, though. If this is real and not some kind of wonderful dream, then there is no way I'm going to get to have you and then learn to live without.”

Clint smiles. “If this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up.” 

Phil kisses him again, long and sweet and slow. He pulls back to tip their foreheads together. “We'll figure something out. Even if it's just coordinating when we're in the same city, we'll take the time when we can.” He strokes a hand across Clint's chest. “You're always welcome to join my team. We'd be thrilled to have you.”

Clint actually looks as though he's considering it, but then he shakes his head. “No. As much as I want to, I can't do that. Fury wants me to stick close. He seems to think something big is on the horizon. I bet that's why he has you flying around the world in this giant tin can; he needs people he can trust in key positions.”

Phil understands. Still. He pulls Clint tight against his chest. “One day we won't have to do this any more. Things will settle down, S.H.I.E.L.D. will step up, and we can take a much needed vacation. Somewhere relaxing. New Providence, maybe.”

Clint laughs. “I am not vacationing with you in Iowa.” 

“Wherever. As long as you're there with me, it will be the best vacation I've ever had.”

Clint grins and leans in for another kiss. “Sap.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

“I do. I really, really do.”

 

 

The End


End file.
